The 4th Hunger Games
by sally134
Summary: It's time for the 4th Annual Hunger Games. Who will win? A tribute with the strength of the career pack or one more used to hardship and survival? This story follows Ribbon and Wynn but who will be crowned victor? (Contains spoilers for my other Hunger Games stories.) Hope you enjoy it- let me know either way!
1. Chapter 1: Tributes

Reapings

District One: Ribbon

It's so cold, as if reaping day has leeched all the warmth from the summer air. My head aches from lack of sleep, the previous Hunger Games have been playing on a near permanent loop and it's hard to keep the images from my mind; tributes being stabbed and strangled have pervaded my dreams.

I step out of bed and wince as my feet touch the freezing stone floor. Even so, I'm careful not to stand on the strips of silk that Satine laid out in a careful pattern last night; my sister is apprenticing a tailor and our room doubles as her workshop. The house sounds busy and I take a moment to compose myself before I head down to the kitchen.

"Good of you to join us" My father doesn't look up from his stitching as he sips his tea.

"Sorry, I couldn't sleep." He raises his eyebrows and hands me the fur gloves he was repairing. "Perhaps you should finish these, and then take them to Morgan at the bakery."

I nod and take the gloves. "What are we getting for them?"

"She should give you some seeded rolls and enough stories about her grandchildren to send you off to sleep for days." My father gives me a wry smile and squeezes my shoulder.

In truth I'm grateful for the busy work; the reaping gnaws at my core but I don't want to show how frightened I feel. The mood of District One has changed in the wake of the Hunger Games; now that the rebels have been killed and the more backwards, outlying Districts have been brought to line. Merchants can open their stores and the steady stream of business from the Capitol is returning; our tailors, furriers and jewellers can trade their wares and skills. I'm not saying that the deaths of the tributes aren't regrettable, but someone has to pay for the rebellion and at least I can walk the streets of District One safely once more.

After I run my errands I find some friends and join the queue for reaping registration. We make small talk about anything except the Games. Finally we are all ushered into the large, open square in front of the Justice Building. A team from the Capitol has been busy, planting flower boxes and hanging a huge banner that reads 'Working Together for a Stronger Panem.'

The Capitol liaison, Mira Marguerite, fusses with the ribbons of her dress and composes herself for the camera.

"A joyous welcome to you all from the Capitol!" Mira exclaims in a squeaky voice that makes her sound like a child. "Before the main event, we have a film here from President Snow himself!"

The film is the same as it was last year and the year before; at sixteen I am old enough to know what life was like in the final months of the dark days. My father had no work, no-one wants to buy new clothes in the middle of the war, and the ensuing poverty claimed the life of my mother. If the outlying Districts had just toed the line, if they had just worked to make life better within the District, then we could've afforded the medication to save my mother's life. I feel so fuelled with anger and blame for the rebels that ruined my life that I almost miss the moment my name is called out.

"Ribbon Cutter!" Mira looks out at the widening crowd and I see faces, some sympathetic and pitying and some with eyes turned away from me. At almost seventeen I am taller than most of the sixteen year olds around me and I can see the cameras already trained on my face. I try to make my movements confident, striding rather than walking to the stage, and I curse inwardly the rebels that put me in this position.

"Thank you my dear!" Mira gives me a broad grin. Close up I can see lines behind the white power on her face, she must be much older than she pretends.

"And now for the boys. Our male tribute will be….Tucker Baste!"

I look out at the crowd for my District partner and am pleased to see someone worthy of an alliance. Tucker stalks out of a crowd of sixteen year old boys; he's shorter than me, a little stocky but he looks strong. I'm pleased we're the same age, after all an alliance can't last forever and I'd feel even more nervous about facing off against a strapping eighteen year old.

We shake hands and I meet his gaze with, what I hope is, an even stare. Tucker gives nothing away, there is no fear or compassion in his eyes, but he inclines his head to me slightly. Maybe a nod of alliance? The peacekeepers indicate we should walk with them and we separate to say our goodbyes, only one of us will stand on this stage again.

District Three: Wynn

The reaping queue snakes its way through the grim, grey streets and I follow it, reluctantly, to the end. No one speaks; the peacekeepers are less than friendly and even the most powerful physicists and engineers in the District get a curt nod. We shuffle along and a misty rain begins to descend from the steely sky. A girl behind me cries; she's small, maybe only just turned twelve, and by the look of her hollow eyes it's been a long time since she had a decent meal. I pull up my coat collar and force the zip all the way up to my chin. It's not the best fitting hand-me-down to come from my father, I'm a lot taller than he is and the coat is tight across my shoulders, but I'm glad of the warmth.

The sobbing girl is comforted by an older child; she pushes into the queue and throws me a scowl as I turn to face them. "What?" she demands.

"Nothing" I shake my head a little and turn back to my place. Ahead of us is a peacekeeper I know as Panner, he walks down the line, tapping his long baton on the ground and sneering at us. I keep my eyes averted as he passes; the last thing I want is a beating in the middle of the square.

The television screens that litter the town square are broadcasting all the previous Hunger Games on a near loop. I wonder if other Districts, those who do not produce electronics, are subjected to the same deluge of footage that we are. My father works on a production line soldering circuit boards and, even there, mini-screens play the Hunger Games and Captiol propaganda across all angles of the factory. Finally, I reach the little temporary desks of the Capitol assistants; a woman in a purple wig looks thoroughly bored as she takes my blood sample and confirms the details on her computer screen.

"Name?" She asks brusquely

"Wynn Hewlett" I reply, aware that Panner has now stopped to hear this little exchange.

"Age?"

"Fifteen" I resist the urge to look over at the peacekeeper. He wouldn't try anything with the Capitol assistant right there but I know he'll remember any imagined slight or disrespect for another time.

"It says you have a scar on your cheek." The tall purple wig bobs slightly as the woman moves to see the right-hand side of my face.

I nod and reply "Yes, it's from when I was a child."

Panner snorts derisively and adds "Don't forget to tell the nice lady how you got it. He's a thief, stole food from honest merchants."

The Capitol woman doesn't reply but I see the disapproving flare of her nostrils and I burn with embarrassment and anger. I was hungry, the factories were closed and there were no wages for food until the end of the rebellion. I stole for myself and my parents but Panner caught me. They gave me ten lashes in the town square but I was still small, only twelve years old, that the whip caught my cheek. My father had to spend the night in jail as punishment for 'encouraging rebellious behaviour in the home.'

I shuffle towards my place with the other fifteen year olds but they don't acknowledge me. I can't see my parents at the edge of the crowd but I know they must be there somewhere, and I don't want to look too childish by craning my neck over the taller boys.

Our Capitol liaison, Lemon Goodwood, takes to the stage in a glittering overcoat and mauve spray on trousers. "Welcome all of you! I am, as always, so honoured to bring my greetings from the Capitol!"

He directs us to the usual film of a dashing, young Cornelius Snow, warning us of the consequences of further rebellion.

The film makes me think of the day I stole the food; I had stood, watching the grocer's stall, for hours. People were starving to death every-day and only the richer merchants could still trade goods with each other. The electronics factories pollute the air and so growing food was too difficult for those living in the fumes of the town centre, the only choice we had was to beg. I had already tried begging and pleading but the grocer gave me a swift kick and I retreated behind a nearby building. I knew the punishment for stealing was severe; one group had even been hanged for fashioning a weapon to rob a butcher's shop. But I was so desperate that I waited until the peacekeepers were distracted by another rogue and I dashed to the stall, clutched two potatoes and ran for my life.

Of course the peacekeepers caught me; I was stumbling around with weakness and fear. Panner was the one who grasped my shirt and I remember the potatoes tumbling to the ground as he lifted me easily into the air. My parents pleaded my age, said I was a hungry child and I didn't know what would happen. The head peacekeeper said my father should be punished for that, he was taken to the cells and I was taken immediately to be lashed.

I look back to the film and see swaying gibbets with rebels broken and half-dead inside. They surely knew what would happen to them and it makes me wonder how desperate they must have been.

The film ends and Lemon claps enthusiastically, his face is locked in some kind of permanently frozen grin as he addresses us. "Wasn't that just thrilling?! Okay then, onto the business of the day. Firstly, our female tribute." Lemon twirls his fingers around a bowl of names and plucks out a card "Ana Newton!"

A slightly built girl stumbles out of the throng of thirteen year olds, she has mousy hair and holds hands clasped together in front of her. When she takes the stage I can see that she is trembling and one of the older girls is audibly sobbing at the front of the stage.

Lemon attempts to move on quickly and crosses to the bowl with the boy's names. This time he doesn't twirl his fingers and instead snatches a card right off the top of the pile.

"Wynn Hewlett!"

I lay awake last night, imagining this moment and wondering how it would feel to hear my own name. I thought I would cry or vomit but instead I tell myself that if my little female counterpart can get to the stage then so can I.

I clench my fists and walk stiffly, trying to avoid any tremor or wobble that could be interpreted as weakness. The television screens are lit with my image and I keep my face carefully blank as I ascend the stairs. Lemon grips my arm and leads me to centre stage. I shake hands with Ana and then turn to the crowd for a final glimpse of the grey, foggy, square.

I wonder if I will ever see it again.


	2. Chapter 2: Travelling Companions

District One: Ribbon

I clutch my sister's hand and pull her close.

There can be no tears until I'm alone so, for now, I grip Satine as hard as I can and promise her I will come home.

My father presents me with a necklace, a simple silver chain with a spherical fur pendant; it will be my token for the Games.

"I am so very proud of you." He tells me and wraps his arms around my shoulders. I breathe in the scent of the detergent we use to clean fur coats, and try to commit it to my memory.

The peacekeeper tells us that time is up and we part on the words "I love you, I love you," a fitting goodbye.

I take deep breaths and stare at my reflection in the window. Tears prick my eyes and I allow myself to cry for a few minutes until Mira comes to take me to the train station. This is the end of Ribbon the daughter, Ribbon the sister and even Ribbon the loyal citizen. Now I am Ribbon the tribute and my only focus is to make it back as Ribbon the victor.

My necklace hangs over my blouse and I give it a quick squeeze, letting it anchor me to my mission of victory.

District Three: Wynn

I had always imagined the goodbyes would be hard but, in reality, they are unbearable.

My mother, father and I weep openly, clutching desperately at each other for another embrace before we can be pulled apart.

"We'll send you anything we can. We'll speak to the neighbours; your father will talk to people in the factory. We can send you things to help you." My mother promises, blowing her nose noisily.

I nod, grateful for the sentiment but I'm no naive optimist. Tribute gifts cost more than my family could ever gather, even if they sold all our possessions and got our neighbours to do the same it wouldn't pay for more than a loaf of bread on day one. I don't tell my mother that, right now she needs to believe she can help me.

"Don't give up. We'll be watching as often as we can, if you look at a camera then we'll be looking right back at you. You're not alone." My father's voice is measured and kind, it sends me into another fit of tears and he passes me a handkerchief to dry my eyes.

The peacekeeper tells us it's time to leave and we walk in a strange group hug until we reach the door. They are forcibly removed from my arms and the peacekeeper slams the door in my face.

Left alone I feel an ache pressing against my chest and I gulp the air in wracked, heavy breaths; desperate to fill my lungs with anything except despair.

Cameras follow us to the train; Lemon swishes his long, glittering coat and smiles his strange frozen smile at the waiting crowd. The train hisses and judders slightly as I board; my little district partner, Ana, looks terrified and trembles as her foot touches the board plate.

"It's okay" I tell her "come on."

Ana flinches back from my outstretched hand and I wonder if I am really so frightening? I'm a little above average height but I'm not built like one of the broad-shouldered loaders that work in the factories.

Perhaps this is a good sign; I was wrong to try to comfort Ana, I can't give her false hope that we'll be allies. She's on her own now, and so am I.

District One: Ribbon

The train is exhilarating; I've never travelled so fast before and I try not to look too childish as I scurry to the window to see the landscape fly by.

Mira shows me to my sumptuous sleeping quarters and I spend a little time luxuriating in the hot shower. When I win the Games I definitely want one of these!

In one sentimental moment I think I might re-dress in my own clothes but I stop and scold myself, kicking them under the bed before I change my mind. The Capitol is providing for me now and no-one will sponsor me if I look like some street dweller from the outer Districts. I select a sunflower yellow, silken shirt and a pair of white trousers; the stitching is incredible and I wonder if it was done by hand or a machine. I also take my long, brown hair and twist it back into a bun, affixing a large, sequined flower to keep it in place.

More than anything else I hope Mira likes it; I want her to think of me fondly and send any sponsor gifts my way.

The dining carriage smells delicious and I find a place set, ready for me, at the polished wooden table. I see that Tucker has also showered and changed his clothing; he has a bright purple blazer and tiger striped trousers which Mira is gleefully admiring.

Crafty, crafty boy. There is no way that any non-Capitol citizen would choose that ridiculous combination of clothing, clearly Tucker is playing the same game as me. Well, I'll give him a run for his money if nothing else.

I take my seat and joyfully exclaim "Mira! Sorry I was so long, I just kept trying on more and more dresses. How on earth do you decide what to wear when it's all so beautiful?"

Tucker flicks his gaze across my form and I meet it evenly; his eyes are a vivid green and I see for the first time how similar we look. His dark hair matches my own and is long enough to be tied back, furthermore we both have an olive tinge to our skin-tone, as if we have spent the day in the sun. Perhaps we are from the same part of District One, thought I can't remember seeing him at school.

More than this I see the steely determination in his eyes and I know that he can only see fortitude returned in my own.

Mira's squeaky voice cuts through our mutual sizing-up. "Why darling you look radiant!"

I smile and begin my meal; lamb chops encrusted with herbs, served with fluffy mashed potatoes, green beans and rich, fruity gravy.

Mira chatters on about the people we'll meet, the decadent banquet after the chariot rides and the top secret work being done by our stylists, to ensure we are unforgettable. I smile politely and ask pertinent but light-hearted questions, constantly pushing down the urge to scream 'what about sponsorship?!' or 'how do I get allies?!'

Tucker matches my banter expertly; he seems effortlessly social and offers several amusing anecdotes about his life in District One. Mira seems utterly charmed, she pours us wine and I take courteous sips; but it's not a drink I think I could ever get used to, and I'm glad to set it aside when she excuses herself from the room.

We're left in silence as we finish our meal but I have to say something to Tucker about his 'good little tribute' performance.

"I notice your District One stories didn't feature any home raids or executions. Did you edit those out or didn't you notice them?"

He coughs in surprise "Maybe I cleaned it up a little. Out of interest, when you told Mira you loved her purple wig, were you lying or are you just completely stupid?"

I shake my head and snort "maybe I cleaned up my opinion a little."

Mira pokes her head around the door and calls us to come and watch the recap of the reapings. Tucker leans in close to me and his tone is serious as the grave "you should know, no matter what alliances are made in the next couple of days, I intend to be the victor."

My stomach churns but I don't look away. "Well, that could be a problem, because so do I."

District Three: Wynn

Lemon prattles on endlessly throughout dinner.

I look up from my plate occasionally and provide a short, polite comment but I am otherwise engrossed in my meal. Never in my life have I seen such bounty; my heart initially sank when Ana took the platter of mashed potatoes and started eating it with a spoon, but Lemon just clicked his fingers and an attendant brought more.

There's so much that my sides ache and my stomach seems to protrude a little. I'm pleased that there are no cameras because I'm practically groaning in pain from the hugeness of the meal, and Ana looks no better as she lies on a couch, rubbing her abdomen.

Lemon seems almost amused at our discomfort and asks if we'd like to be sick so we can have some more. I can't help the look of disgust that crosses my face but I try to disguise it as a grimace from a stomach cramp. "Thanks," I tell him "but I think I just need to rest."

"Very well, but you must watch the recap first. It's just so important to see the competition; it will help us build our strategy."

This might be the first useful thing I have heard Lemon say, so I swallow my distaste and take up a seat beside him.

After watching three years of Hunger Games I know what to look for in the reaping footage. It's good to be broad and strong but it's just as useful to be wiry, sneaky and quick.

The District One and District Two tributes are all sixteen, all look well-fed and I've no doubt they will band together. These reapings only highlight Ana's small stature and the signs of malnourishment that we both carry in our faces. The other districts have a varying array of tributes, a muscular seventeen year old boy from Four and a skinny girl from Six who twitches and dances on the spot, as if she cannot keep still. The girl from Eleven stands out to me more than any other, she walks so calmly to the stage and stares down the barrel of the camera at the train station.

My stomach pain is replaced with an ache of despondency. What had I hoped for? A field of twelve year olds? No-one can feel good about cutting down a small child but at least I wouldn't have to worry about being the prey. I raise the issue with Lemon but he tells me not to fuss.

"Oh worry not, my dear. Tomorrow we will make a plan but, for now, you need to go to sleep."

I am ushered into my sleeping carriage where I change out of my clothes and into a warm pair of woollen pyjamas. Before I climb into bed I fish out the handkerchief my father gave me earlier today, and clutch it like a small child may clutch a blanket for comfort. I wonder if I will be able to sleep at all, but the gentle swaying of the train and the fullness of my belly conspire to close my eyes.


	3. Chapter 3: Chariot Rides

District Three: Wynn

I awake filled with confusion, wondering where I am and why the room is moving. The events of yesterday hit me like a landslide and I pull the covers over my head, as if I can just ignore my predicament and sink into my sadness.

Lemon's voice coos at me through the door "Good morning Wynn! Up, up, up!"

I consider ordering food and refusing to leave the room, but there will be more cameras as we disembark the train. For this reason I drag myself into the shower and wash the sleep from my eyes.

On returning to my sleeping quarters I see that someone has taken my reaping clothes, I dive through the bedcovers and locate my father's handkerchief; I'll have to be careful to keep it close, now that it's my only link to District Three.

I dress and make my way to the dining car where Ana is eating a bowl of porridge. She doesn't look up at me and I decide to just sit away from her, no point in trying to push for a relationship now.

Lemon arrives with a glass of red juice and a stick of celery "Come and sit down Wynn, we'll be in the Capitol soon and you'll wish you'd had breakfast."

An attendant provides me with a plate of eggs, bacon, fried potatoes, mushrooms and tomatoes; I take small bites and try to find a balance between filling my stomach and not making myself sick.

"Well, now that we're well rested, shall we have a chat about strategy?" Lemon asks brightly, as if we're planning a lengthy shopping spree or huge surprise party. "I assume you will be working separately within the arena?"

Ana doesn't look up from her porridge but, when I quietly reply "That's right, separately" I swear I can hear a muffled sob.

Lemon either doesn't notice or doesn't care "Very well, in that case I'll start with some generic advice and you can speak to your stylists later after the chariot rides…"

I listen to Lemon talk, and I'm pleased for the information, but I'm acutely aware that the air tastes of shame.

District One: Ribbon

The Capitol is breathtakingly beautiful and I rush to the windows for a better look. The landscape gleams with wealth and I see no residual damage from the dark days.

"It's almost too good to be true isn't it?" Tucker sits himself down on the window-seat beside me, pulling grapes from a large bunch and popping them into his mouth.

I murmur agreement and he scoffs "What's this? Not talking to me now?"

Eugh, I wish he'd just let it drop and leave me alone. I stare out of the window and ignore him.

"Come on Ribbon, we're gonna be allies, it's an obvious and sensible choice. We'll get Two in on the act, maybe speak to Four in case the arena has a lot of water…maybe that girl from Eleven too. So what? Yesterday we laid it all out there; you want to kill me and I get that, but until then why not be useful to each other?"

I sigh heavily, partially in relief that I'm such an obvious choice for the strong pack and partially in irritation that Tucker is thinking this through much better than I am.

"Fine" I tell him firmly "but let's be clear, the girl from Eleven doesn't get a look in. I'm not trusting some rebel sympathiser to watch my back while I sleep."

Tucker offers me a grape and smirks "fair enough."

District Three: Wynn

Galen, my stylist, fusses with a hem on my costume. I appear to be dressed exactly like the District Three tributes last year, a set of oily overalls with a ridiculously large, glittery wrench in my belt.

"This is very difficult to hem like this, if only you were shorter" Galen huffs.

"Sorry to disappoint you." The comment leaves my lips before I can check myself; I need Galen to like me as he'll be helping Lemon to recruit sponsors until our District gets a victor. "Thank you for adjusting my costume, it feels wonderful now."

Galen beams with pride and I hope that my snarky remark has gone unheard.

He leads me to my chariot and I stand, warily, on the platform; horses are rarely seen in District Three and I hope to goodness that I don't need to command this thing.

Ana takes up position beside me, her stylist whispers to her and taps her lightly under the chin, perhaps a reminder to keep her head up?

I take this advice myself; straighten my shoulders to look at the mansion in the distance.

District One: Ribbon

My dress swishes in the early evening breeze and my hair threatens to move out of its newly lacquered bun. My stylist, Coco, has dressed me in twists of multi-coloured silk; they sweep around my body and form a flowing train at my waist.

The ride is glorious and our images, projected on huge screens along the course, show us to be proud, strong citizens. There are people everywhere, throwing us flowers and cheering. I hear my name called from a hundred mouths and I turn to blow kisses in return.

Near the mansion I catch the eye of a young man in the crowd and pull a twist of pink silk from my dress, I wink and throw it his way.

"Cheeky" Tucker remarks through his smile.

"Shut up and wave" I reply, pleased with myself, perhaps I'm better at this game than I thought.


	4. Chapter 4: Training Days

District One: Ribbon

I'm so tired after the chariot ride that I want to go straight to sleep, but I can't resist taking a long bath first. There is a panel of buttons which allow me to control the lighting, temperature and even send little holographic fish swimming around my toes. I laze there and use a speaker to order a platter of fresh fruit and miniature cakes. Feeling warm and sated I dress in cozy pyjamas and slip in amongst the plush pillows and blankets that cover my huge bed.

I wonder what Satine and my father are doing now; Satine will probably love having our bed all to herself, but I imagine she'll be cold tonight. No doubt my father has seated himself by a candle in the kitchen, he'll have a pot of tea and some repair work or monogramming to do. Perhaps my new status as tribute will have brought him more commissions. Homesickness hits me in a wave; my chest aches suddenly and unbidden panic mingles with my thoughts. I throw off the bedcovers in a fit of claustrophobia, grab my little fur pendant from the bedside table and grip it tightly, holding it to my face and inhaling the scent of home. After a few minutes of deep, slow breaths I am able to lie back down in bed and I scold myself for being so foolish. I shouldn't be thinking of home, not yet.

District Three: Wynn

After a fitful night I awake with aches in my back and shoulders. Galen visits my room with a tray of breakfast and my training outfit. He sits in my lounge chair for a moment to chat with me about training.

"Don't just stick to one kind of station; spread your time around combat and survival training. Can you do anything….you know….dangerous?" Galen purses his lips distastefully.

I've never been in a fight with weapons before but I've held my own in scuffles for food at the markets. I shrug with, what I hope is, a kind of mysterious confidence. He chatters on at me as I dress; listing all the training stations and suggesting questions I might like to ask the instructors. I nod and try to pay attention but I'm wracked with nerves. I know we aren't supposed to fight before the Games, but I can't shake my feeling of unease that some of these tributes are already comfortable with knives, axes and spears.

Ana stands waiting for the elevator and I join her in the short ride down to the training floor. Other tributes are gathered, waiting, but I can see that we aren't the last ones here. An attendant stands off to one side with a tray of drinks and I take one to sip as another attendant pins the number three to my back. Once we are all gathered the lead instructor, a hugely muscular man named Damson, calls for our attention. He gives us a similar speech to the one I heard from Galen earlier; balance time between the stations, find new skills rather than sticking with the comfortably familiar and no combat with other tributes.

I try to prioritise the skills I will need and I know that finding food and water will be of paramount importance. I've never scavenged crops or set snares and the only water source I have ever used is the pump at the end of my street. The boys from Seven and Twelve are already listening to an instructor talk about tracking a water source and, for a moment, I consider moving on to another station but….no, it's too important. The boy from Twelve is taller than me but he's gaunt and swaying slightly; when I elbow past him to get to a spot in front of the instructor, he just moves out of my way. The boy from Seven grunts and makes a 'tch' sound, I turn around and spit the word "What?" with as much false bravado as I can muster. Granted it's not the most imaginative or threatening thing I could've said but the boy mumbles "nothing" and looks back towards the instructor, so at least I haven't totally embarrassed myself.

District One: Ribbon

I see Tucker move to chat with Dray, the hulking seventeen year old male tribute from District Four. This is the time to court allies and we knew we wanted him as soon as we saw him on the reaping playback. I stand with his female counterpart, Allison, she's only fourteen but she's got a tough demeanour and it could help us to recruit Dray if his District partner is in with us too.

"Do you want to come and make weapons?" I ask her, she nods and shows little intimidation at being approached by an older tribute.

We sit, side-by-side, and watch as an instructor takes a large piece of broken glass and ties it to a short wooden plank. "You can't guarantee that you will be given weapons or that you won't have to fashion something crude in an emergency…" The instructor talks about using vines and sharpening stones but, as I listen, I watch Allison's nimble fingers take a piece of flint and lash it expertly to a stick.

"Do you do this kind of thing in District Four?" I ask

She shrugs "Sometimes. Since Delta became a victor she's gotten them to relax the laws about fishing from the beach but I prefer spearing fish around the shallows. I'm not allowed a real fishing spear until I leave school; even then they're technically weapons so they're kept under lock and key in the tackle store. So, I made a couple and hid them, I told my sister where they are before I got on the train…you know, just in case."

Internally, I have to admit I'm impressed. Allison _is_ tough and, if first impressions are anything to go by, pretty resourceful. I'll mention this to Tucker tonight, Allison might be more useful than we first thought.  
After an hour of making weapons my fingers are sore and I want to move on. I'm pleasantly surprised when the boy from Two approaches me, it's good to know I'm being courted as part of the strong alliance.

"Hey, I'm Cap." He holds out his hand and I shake it steadily.

"I'm Ribbon."

Cap nods and gestures towards the gauntlet "Want to go for a run?"

I agree and butterflies flutter in my stomach, now it's time to prove myself to someone else. The gauntlet is an intimidating obstacle course and, even as we cross the training floor, I see the girl from District Nine fall off a platform and cry out as she hits the floor.

The instructor asks if we'd like to run together, like a race, Cap looks my way and I nod "Why not?"

We take our positions at the line and the instructor blows a starting whistle. I sprint forwards, up an incline, and then leap from platform to platform, dodging the balls that are fired at me by attendants. Blood thunders through my ears but I don't stop; I spring forwards and grab the steel hoops that hang from the ceiling, and a jangle of metal to my left tells me that Cap isn't far behind. Below me is a pit of foam pieces, a soft landing for those who let go, but I hold firm; swinging my way across the void and inching onto the landing platform with my tiptoes. Finally I grab the rope and shimmy my way up to the bell. I ring the bell and, a fraction of a second later, Cap rings his own.

Panting with exertion and the excitement of winning, I extend my hand "Good race."

He nods and takes it graciously "Thanks."

District Three: Wynn

I make the mistake of trying the edible insect station before lunch. My stomach is queasy from trying snails, worms and yellow larvae that I'm assured is full of protein. I serve myself a bowl of beef stew, bubbling with potatoes, carrots and mixed beans, and then take a seat alone at a bench by the wall. I watch carefully as tributes fill up the other benches; most sit alone but I see those from Districts One, Two and Four sit together. There's no laughter or chatter, this clearly isn't a burgeoning friendship, but it's obvious that they intend to work as a team.

I wonder if it feels safer with them; are they all sleeping and eating without being plagued by nerves? Or is it worse? Knowing that you'll need to trust a murderous stranger to protect you as you sleep?

The girl from District Eleven, Chard, glides into the cafeteria. Her dark skin has a light sheen from the exertion of the morning, but she looks totally composed as she helps herself to food. Athena, the District Two girl, returns to the buffet for more bread and roughly elbows Chard out of the way. In a moment, Chard swipes Athena's legs out from under her; she lands heavily on the ground and swears angrily.

"You stupid bitch" Athena jumps up and pushes Chard into the buffet table, a jug of gravy clatters to the ground and Chard picks it up, clearly ready to smash it into Athena's face. All at once there are attendants on every side, pulling the girls away from each other. Athena snarls angrily, spitting insults and kicking her legs as she tries to free herself from the attendant's grip. Chard remains silent, being led rather than dragged; she reaches over for a bread roll and walks nonchalantly from the cafeteria.

The afternoon session is largely uneventful; I sit with the girl from District Six at the knot tying station and try to learn how to set snares and traps. I surprise myself by being quite adept at this skill (having never set a snare in my life,) and the tasks remind me of school, except I'm disentangling rope instead of wiring. Next I steel myself to take part in a wrestling session; the instructor is excellent and shows me several defensive moves in case I have an arm hooked around my neck or if I am knocked to the ground.

At the end of the day my shoulders sting from being dropped to the ground by the wrestling instructor, but I'm happy with my progress.

District One: Ribbon

Dinner is served back in the District One apartment; a thick, spicy tomato soup followed by roast chicken that is so fragrant and delicious Tucker orders an extra one just for him.

"Great day! I've been talking to Silver, the victor from Two, she's happy to have you in her alliance." Mira smiles as she takes tiny mouthfuls of her food.

"Her alliance?!" Tucker queries, his outrage at the suggestion that District Two are in charge of this grouping is clear from his tone. I nearly cough out my food at the mere thought.

My stylist, Coco, holds up her hands and speaks soothingly "Silver can be… a little…intense. Obviously, we want the real power to remain with District One but, behind the scenes, it's best to have her on side. Sponsors are more responsive to victors than stylists or liaisons."

Tucker huffs "Don't worry, next year you'll have a victor to make sure you're not in this position."

I can't help but feel the barb to this comment; after all, he's suggesting I'll be dead and he'll be arranging the alliances. I reach over to the extra chicken he ordered and rip off a leg "Tucker's right; next year I'll take care of it and you won't have to worry."

District Three: Wynn

The Game makers show up part way through the morning of the second day. I see them look over at us, occasionally making notes or pointing out something from one of the stations.

I spend most of my morning making fires; its hard work and I wonder how the District Twelve tributes both seem to coax a blaze so easily. Eventually I move on from the station when the exasperated instructor tells me to hope for matches at the cornucopia. In the afternoon I make a slingshot and then test it out on a few targets before moving on to the knife throwing station. It becomes clear very quickly that throwing knives isn't a good fit for me; most knives simply fall to the floor and one even ricochets off the target edge and flies towards the instructor's head.

"Your stance is wrong." A quiet voice makes me jump; Chard stands next to me and throws a knife at the target, it sticks and I see one of the Game makers note her progress.

I'm not sure what to say, she's one of the strongest tributes here and I ought to be well under her radar. "Thanks, would it be ok to watch you throw a couple?" I reply

Chard shrugs and throws four more blades at the moving targets; I try to imitate the position of her feet and the line of her arm, when I throw my next knife it bounces straight off the target but its far closer than I've been before. After another hour of practice I think I may actually hit a largish target successfully; for some reason I turn around to look for Chard, as if she would want to congratulate my success, but I don't see her. It's stupid really, she only gave me a pointer, hardly makes us allies.

District One: Ribbon

My jaw aches; boxing was hard but I think the Game makers saw me land a punch or two.

Tucker has dragged the lunch tables together again, so we can eat with the tributes from Two and Four. I wish I could walk off and sit somewhere alone; partially because I've spent the whole morning trying to impress these people and the Game makers, but mostly because I don't want to get to know them. I need to kill these people and it'll be harder to do that if we spend time together. It's not as if we're laughing, talk is mostly confined to training and our thoughts on non-alliance tributes, but it's a careful line between developing trust for an ally and becoming friends.

"Did you see the boy from Ten trying to shoot a bow?" Cap asks us "He tripped and nearly took his own eye out."

Athena snorts "Wish he had…maybe I should start tripping people up on the weapon stations, thin the herd a little."

Dray lifts his head from his food and retorts "Perhaps that's what Chard was going for when she put you on the floor."

The table goes suddenly quiet. Dray's comment was probably meant as a joke but Athena doesn't seem to find it funny, she rises and stalks away in a huff.

"I think that's our cue to leave" Tucker whispers next me "I'd give her a wide berth if I were you. See you later."

I nod and take his advice. Out on the training floor, Athena is throwing knives at a dummy, so I move towards the first aid station and learn how to stitch wound, strap up a broken bone and remove an infected tooth.

Just before the day draws to a close I hear a shout from the other side of the room; Dray has fallen heavily from the ceiling rope course. Attendants rush over to him and the first aid instructor abandons his station to provide assistance and any materials. There is a foam pit beneath the rope course but Dray has fallen from the very first rope so he landed half in the pit and half on the hard ground, injuring his face and shoulder.

Dray isn't my District partner or friend so I don't rush straight over but curiosity makes me move closer and listen in to the commotion.

"Just a bad bit of bruising I think" the first aid instructor tells the medical assistant "Jarred shoulder and a cut lip, nothing serious."

Athena appears behind me "How odd, I've just come across that course and I was fine."

I look up at the rope course, specifically the first handhold where Dray fell; it hangs lower than the others and, if I squint, I can see the jagged line where it has been cut.

District Three: Wynn

The shower in my quarters is set as hot as I can stand it but I can't seem to chase the chill from my bones. Is it a few degrees colder this evening or am I just imagining it?

Dinner is served and I join Lemon, Galen, Ana and Ana's stylist (Marla) at the dining table.

"Slight change to last year's schedule, instead of having interviews tomorrow night you'll have one more day. We'll coach you on answering questions and, of course, you'll have a beautiful outfits…" Lemon witters on but I can only focus on the fussy way he eats his pork; cutting off miniscule pieces of fat and wiping them on the sides of his plate. I wonder if he's ever been so hungry that the pain gnaws at his stomach and keeps him awake at night. I doubt he'd eat this way if he had.

Ana takes her food into the lounge area and Marla goes with her.

"Discussing strategy for the private Game maker session no doubt" Lemon comments.

I should be grateful to have Lemon all to myself, I should use this time to gain favour and encourage him to direct any sponsorship my way, but I just sit silently and let Galen talk for me. Ana's retreating back saddens me; she must know how hopeless her situation is, even when compared to my own.

The final morning of training is quiet and the atmosphere around the stations is tense. Even the boy from One stays silent, and I normally hear him throwing some sarcastic comment at whomever he's with. When the lead instructor tells us to get started I just stand there, unsure whether to cement half-learned skills or try something else that's new and risk not being able to remember it in the Arena.

I go back to the stations on edible plants and insects, just to check I can still identify the safe specimens from the poisonous ones. Next I spend a little time making fish hooks and then round off the morning at the camouflage station; I'd dismissed this one as little more than a childish painting session but the instructor is excellent. She lectures us on how best to hike without leaving a trail, how to disguise a cave entrance and how to conceal ourselves in mud and vines when we're too injured to move.

District One: Ribbon

I pace up and down the little waiting area for the private sessions; there are benches but I want to stay active, keep my heart rate up and nurture the adrenaline fuelled energy I built up in the wrestling arena. It seems like an age until Tucker bursts through the doors but, when he does, I pay him little attention.

"Got them warmed up for you, you can thank me later" He fixes me with his usual sardonic grin "Show them something good."

"Thanks for the pep talk; I was going to show them how to stitch lace." I pat him on the arm and push past him through the double doors.

My routine has been carefully choreographed by Coco and Mira; first I run the gauntlet but this is only as a means to get to the weapons rack, to show them my speed and agility before selecting a hatchet and moving on to the dummies. I throw the weapon, burying it into the dummy's chest, but I don't retrieve it; I grab a piece of sharpened flint from the table of miscellaneous objects and lash it to a piece of wooden board. The lashing isn't perfect but it should be enough to drive it into the dummy's head and give me a nice image to go out on.

I am pouring with sweat but I try to compose myself and appear neutral as I turn to face the Game makers. Happily, they are focused on my efforts and I see a few making notes and chatting in pairs.

One of them calls to me "You are dismissed."

District Three: Wynn

The lead instructor calls for District Three and we follow him to the waiting area. I don't know what the District Two tributes did but a few attendants go in with mops and we are left to simply wait patiently.

Ana sits with her hands clasped and I wonder if she has a plan for her private session; I guess that she'll do some kind of camouflage or perhaps make a shelter.

The attendants return and I am shown through to the gymnasium; my strategy will be one of evasion rather than direct combat, so I steer clear of the weapons and focus on general survival skills. I gather some supplies, tie various knots and snares then sort through some edible plants and insects. Looking around I see that the Game makers are understandably bored; some have even drifted to the sideboard of drinks for a break. On a whim I decide to go to the knife throwing area, out of the corner of my eye I can see at least a few Game makers watching with interest and I plant my feet firmly in position. I throw five knives and only miss the target once; the other four embed into the targets and I breathe a sigh of relief.

I am dismissed and I back away out of the room.

District One: Ribbon

The training scores are read by a new presenter with flame red hair and a sequinned pantsuit, Geena Steed. Mira squeezes my shoulder and I chew my lip as I await my evaluation.

"Welcome everyone!" Geena has a chipper smile as she makes small talk with the camera. "Our proud tributes have been hard at work getting ready for this year's Hunger Games and we can now reveal their training scores. From District One we have Tucker Baste with a score of nine."

"Yes!" Tucker whoops.

Geena continues "We also have Ribbon Cutter with a score of nine."

"Well done" Coco congratulates me as she passes me a mug cocoa to drink.

"Shame you only did needlework" Tucker comments "If you'd used the weapons maybe you'd have a higher score."

I scoff and hot cocoa burns my nostrils "Tucker, if I got a nine for my sewing what does that mean for your weapon skills?"

The sarcastic smile returns and I ignore it, Tucker's face seems incapable of showing sincerity.

District Three: Wynn

I watch in unbearable anticipation as the boy from Two is given a nine and the girl is given a ten, I can just imagine Athena's sly smile when she sees she is given the highest score so far.

The presenter continues "From District Three we have Wynn Hewlett with a score of six."

Galen pats me on the shoulder and I breathe a sigh of relief; if I make it through the first few days there's a good chance I'll get a sponsor, but it's not high enough to make me an immediate target.

"And the female tribute from District Three, Ana Newton, has a score of two."

It's the first time I see her break. Ana has been like a shadow these last three days, she eats her meals and speaks in hushed tones to Lemon and her stylist. There's no wail of unhappiness but I see Ana's shoulders hunch and splash marks appear on the couch from the huge tears that now roll down her cheeks. Her stylist holds her hand and leads her away from the television screen.

In the awkward aftermath I see Dray, the boy from Four, pull an eight; though I bet it would've been a ten or higher without his recent fall to ruin his private session. After his District partner Allison, pulls a seven, the rest of the numbers are low, most tributes fall between a two and a six, but Chard gets an eleven. Athena must be spitting with rage on the floor above us and I can guess who her first target at the cornucopia will be.


	5. Chapter 5: Bloodbath

District One: Ribbon

I rub my cheeks, smiling for the interview was more painful than walking in the ridiculous heels Coco gave me.

Tucker plonks himself beside me on the couch "We gave them a good show. I liked your story about the holographic fish."

"Thanks" I reply wearily, wondering whether to go straight to sleep or order more food.

"So, tomorrow's the big day. Any thoughts on what the arena will be like?"

I'm so sick of hearing him talk "I'm sure it'll be a gentle walk in the sunshine followed by a knife in the back," I get up from the couch; I think I'll just go to bed.

He holds up his hands "Alright dangerous girl, I'm done. I guess I'll see you in the morning." He starts to leave but then stops and takes my hand, all mirth gone from his eyes "I'll look out for you at the cornucopia, Two and Four are supposed to be with us but we both know District One are going to win these Games."

My brow wrinkles as I ask "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying that we both know what happened between Athena and Dray in the training centre,"

I shrug, conceding what I suspect to be true "The rope hold didn't snap by accident, she severed it because he made fun of her."

Tucker nods "If the Games begin and the alliance doesn't come off, we'll still do well as a pair. I'll be looking for you during the countdown…look for me too."

I mumble agreement, taken aback too far to speak.

"Okay then" Tucker seems relieved "Well, I'll see you in the morning."

I return to my sleeping quarters and shower off the body glitter that Coco applied thickly to my arms and face. I slip into bed and close my eyes, trying to imagine the sound of my father's sewing machine and Satine's gentle snores, hoping it will allow the darkness to claim me.

District Three: Wynn

Lemon orders me to bed but it's soon clear that I won't be able to sleep. I pace the room, eat pieces of hot buttered toast and change the display on my wall screen until I have scrolled through at least 200 options.

Are the strong tributes sleeping? Does it help to know that you'll have someone watching your back straightaway?

I watch the minutes and hours tick away, then I squeeze my eyes shut tight and fret about how much sleep I'm losing; with every minute I lie awake I give the others more advantage than they already have.

Sleep must come because Galen is suddenly in my room, ousting me from the warm bed and telling me to eat. Breakfast must be eaten quickly but there is still plenty to go around; a thick stew of chicken and split peas, a platter of scrambled eggs and a plate of batter cakes spread thickly with preserves. I stuff myself despite my lack of appetite.

An attendant implants my tracker and I long to rub the sore spot on my arm, but I am strapped firmly into the transport chair. We fly for an age through the chilly air of dawn but, sooner than I would like, the windows go dark and I know we are nearing the arena.

I am led to a launch room where I can shower and change; Galen hands me a dark green, long-sleeved shirt with pockets at the chest, dark trousers held up by a stiff belt and then a black zip-up hooded jacket. My footwear is a pair of running shoes, rather than boots, they have a stiff sole but the tongue and outer material are canvas. Finally, I tuck my father's handkerchief into my pocket.

"Doesn't look like clothing for a very wet environment" Galen comments "but the shoes will make gripping hard ground very easy… oh! Here…there's something else to wear" Galen hands me a bracelet. It's a simple piece of brown leather with a strange charm hanging from it; a piece of bone around two inches long, smooth except from the chunks that have been carved out of it and with a pointed end.

"What do you suppose it's for?" I ask

Galen shrugs "There's a star engraved on the leather, maybe it signifies District Three?"

A voice overhead politely orders me into my launch tube. I shake Galen's hand and thank him for his hard work over the last few days, he promises me he will be out encouraging sponsors for me.

The tube descends and I keep my feet steady as the platform pushes me up into the air.

District One: Ribbon

My breath is visible in the cool air and I survey my starting position. We seem to be in a kind of walled, rectangular courtyard; the cornucopia is central and I can see the usual bounty of supplies set out in open crates around the mouth. Under my feet is paved ground; suspiciously clear of weapons, food or bottled water, so it seems we must all get quite near the cornucopia if we want any starting supplies.

I can see blue sky above me, but the walls of the courtyard are toweringly high and there is a sheen to the stone that looks like it would be wet to touch; in one corner a lion's head fountain juts out from the wall and trickles clear water into a small pool. I turn carefully on my platform and count eight exits from the courtyard, two on each side.

My thoughts turn back to my allies and I appraise the layout of the starting platforms; we are in a circle around the cornucopia and by my sides are Chard and the boy from District Nine. I crane my neck for Tucker and spy him a little way to my left, next to Allison and the girl from District Twelve. He seems to be looking for me too and catches my eye in the final few seconds of the countdown.

 _3…2…1…Let the 4_ _th_ _annual Hunger Games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favour._

Acutely aware of Chard, a strong non-ally, to my left I sprint from my starting podium as quickly as I can and aim for an open crate of weapons in the mouth of the cornucopia. I'm not aiming for any weapon in particular but I see a couple of hatchets on top of the pile and take one in each hand. Cap arrives next and takes a long spear; he lunges over my right shoulder and skewers the girl from District Five, the sword in her hand clatters to the floor.

I don't even say thank you, instead I turn to survey the scene; tributes have either scattered through the exits, with no supplies at all, or they are grabbing things from other crates. The boy from Six holds a short sword and seems to be covering his District partner as she heaves a backpack from a crate; I throw one hatchet with my right hand and it buries itself neatly in his chest, then I cut down the girl and retrieve my weapons. An airborne knife skims my cheek and I see Athena bearing down on me, I ready myself with a hatchet and swipe but she dodges and swerves around me, stabbing the boy from Twelve.

"Hey! We're on the same team aren't we?" Athena calls out, I point to my bloodied cheek in reply. "Oh, sorry. I'm looking for that traitor bitch…get Eight!" She pants her apology and instructions. I turn to see the very tall District Eight boy, he pulls a spear out of his District partner's chest and I thrust my hatchet into his forehead.

Where _is_ Chard? She was right next to me at the beginning and I would've thought she'd go in for supplies rather than run away with nothing.

Tucker yells from within the cornucopia and I see the small girl from Ten crouched behind a crate, she swipes a knife across his knee but he kicks her down with his foot and stabs her through the neck with a spear.

"Better drag her out" Cap calls "Otherwise they won't be able to collect her."

As Tucker drags out his kill by the arms, we see that we are alone now in the courtyard. I keep my grip on my weapons tight, you never know if someone is planning a sneak return to the supplies while our guard is down.

Allison and Dray begin to organise our provisions; some crates have been picked clean, this means that some tributes have made a very strong start to the Games. However, as expected, we have kept hold of most comestibles. There are crates of tinned food, packets of dried beef and fruit, bottles of water, sleeping bags, spare clothing, backpacks, torches, first aid supplies and even more weapons.

The bounty relieves the pressure from my chest; how can I lose? We have more than enough to sustain us, now we just need to hunt the other tributes down and I can go home.

District Three: Wynn

A quick survey of the starting area tells me that I'll need to make a dangerous choice; grapple with other tributes for supplies or leave with nothing at all. My podium faces the rear of the cornucopia and I can see an open crate near the mouth, around 20 metres away; I should just clear out and sprint straight through the exit behind me…but the supplies are so close. I could dash in there, grab literally anything off the top of the pile and then make a break for it; even if I only get a bottle of water or a bag of crackers its better than leaving with nothing.

I make my choice and adjust my footing so I can sprint on the balls of my feet.

 _3…2…1…Let the 4_ _th_ _annual Hunger Games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favour._

Keeping my eyes focused on the open crate I sprint directly forwards; my shoes provide good traction on the stone floor and I soon find myself at the mouth of the cornucopia. I grasp at the open crate and close my hand around a small knapsack on a long piece of rope; I throw the rope over my head and intend to clear out immediately… but then I spy packets of food, weapons, and medicines. If I linger a little longer then I can fill this bag with some choice supplies.

I get as far as a small medical kit and a bag of crackers when a scream breaks my concentration and something heavy hits the bag of my head. The world lurches from my view and I fall to the ground; the girl from Ten kicks my groin and steps over me, scurrying into the mouth of the cornucopia. The pain is jarring but I grunt and pant to avoid a screech of pain.

Cursing my stupid decision to dawdle, I roll over to the wall of the cornucopia and lie still as Athena dashes past, throwing knives in hand. I need to leave this battlefield without being noticed, the strong pack of tributes have weapons now but they're still targeting those taking supplies from the crates, rather than those running away. I shuffle forwards on my belly, pausing to play dead when another tribute is close by, the tail of the cornucopia is just in sight when Chard stumbles on my head; she has a backpack slung over her shoulder, a curved sickle in one hand and a long hunting knife in the other. I call out in shock and she jumps backwards; I brace myself for the slash of her sickle when Chard shudders and lurches forwards, dropping her knife. The boy from Ten has stabbed a spear into her shoulder, in a fit of madness, I grab Chard's knife, reach through her legs and stab the boy's foot. Chard turns and slices the boy's belly; I vomit onto his guts as they spill out on the floor.

Chard reaches up with her right hand and pulls the spear out of her shoulder, she offers it to me and I take it with trembling fingers "Come on" she grunts and we run for an exit together.

District One: Ribbon

The cannon fires eight times and I feel energised by the battle; my cheek throbs a little but it isn't deep enough to require stitches. Allison volunteered to stay behind and guard supplies, she's scrappy and isn't afraid of a fight, so I feel confident that she's keeping things secure. The rest of us have packed light, using the supplies from the cornucopia, ready to hunt down the other tributes.

Our pursuit is halted almost immediately when we realise how easily we can become lost in this arena. The starting courtyard has eight exits, all of which lead to wide stone corridors which, in turn, branch off and occasionally open up into smaller courtyards. Athena and Cap try climbing the walls for a better view but they are slimy to the touch and no-one can get a good hold. Dray sprints back to the cornucopia and returns with a box of white chalk, he marks off our progress on the doorways that separate corridors, adding symbols for dead ends when we have to double back.

It's slow progress and frustration builds as we bemoan the uselessness of our time at the tracking station during training.

"How are we supposed to find anyone?" Athena exasperates.

"Do you think there's an end to the corridors?" Dray asks, marking our progress on another doorway.

I can hear footsteps in the distance and I tug on Tucker's jacket, shushing him and indicating that he should quieten the others. I take my opportunity to lead the group and direct Dray to the rear, miming that he should continue to mark our progress; next I signal Athena to move to my left and I see Tucker appear at my right, his sword raised and ready.

The sounds of another tribute are close at hand, I can hear a muffled sob and a dragging noise which I think must indicate an injury to the foot or leg. I take a right, ready to face someone in combat at last; instead I am greeted by the small girl from District Three. She is bleeding heavily from her leg, leaving a slick, bloody trail behind her as she limps away. I've led the group this far and, if I want any respect from them at all, I have to make this kill myself, but it's not exactly sealing my reputation as a hardened warrior. The girl makes a small attempt at getting away but she knows her efforts will be fruitless; I'm not sure if it's worse that she doesn't beg, but I slash her throat easily and kick her to the ground as my allies clap me on the back and whoop that we're another step closer to home.

In the midst of our celebration, I realise that a thought is nagging at me for attention.

"Why was she bleeding?" I wonder aloud.

"Erm…because you slit her throat?!" Athena chortles sarcastically, sharing an eye roll with Cap.

"Thanks Athena. What I mean is; how did she injure her leg?"

We turn to the girl's body and take in her appearance; the tattered remains of her left trouser leg and the scratches on her face, until Tucker says what we're all thinking "It looks like an animal attack."

All mirth is gone and, instinctively, we move closer together, weapons ready and eyes keen on the stretch of the corridor.

"Look," Dray gestures to trail of blood on the floor "it starts at the wall."

We follow the trail and inspect the section of wall where it began; around eye level there is a hole and, above it, a star is carved into the stone. I trace the shape with my thumb and lean down to look through the hole.

"I wonder what the star means" Dray mutters as he presses his ear to the wall. Suddenly, he springs back "Something growled."

Athena snorts and asks "Scared are you?"

Dray swipes forwards with his sword and Athena practically snarls as she leaps backwards but Cap tugs on her arm and Tucker stand between them. "Let's leave this crap at the training centre" He scolds them "for now, we should get back to work."

We walk together, balancing on a tense tightrope of emotion.

District Three: Wynn

It's difficult to keep up with Chard and I'm not exactly sure why I'm trying; we're not allies but my stabbing that boy in the foot has pushed us together, at least for now. Chard's stride is long and she runs with a swift grace that I cannot emulate…more than anything I hope she knows where the hell we are because all the corridors look the same.

My heart pounds and the taste of vomit still burns my tongue.

We run for an age and wild eyed tributes mostly dash around us, but we are soon confronted by the boy from Nine; he tries to aim a bow at us but Chard charges at him, slashing his belly with her sickle and stabbing his chest with her knife.

No other tributes challenge us and soon we are jogging alone through the maze of corridors and courtyards. The sun is gentle but the exertion of our run has made me pant with thirst; I swing my knapsack around and pull out a bottle of water.

"Chard, do you want some?" I ask nervously.

She turns silently and takes the water, after drinking deeply she hands it back and continues her sullen stride. "When we get to the next courtyard we'll take different exits."

I take a deep breath and reply "Okay….can I ask, how do you know where you're going?"

Chard points at a carving in the stone as we pass under a doorway "The concentric circles. They get further apart, and there are more of them, as we move away from the cornucopia. We use a similar system to find our way through the fields north of Eleven."

"Oh," there seems to be little else to say. I keep a strong grip on the spear that is still red with Chard's shoulder blood and we continue our mute hike.

Cannon begin to fire and we pause to count off 8 dead tributes; no doubt the strong pack will soon be on the hunt.

We turn into another courtyard and I stand uncomfortably for a minute as Chard surveys the exits.

"I'm going this way" Chard indicates the doorway to our left "You helped me back there and now I've helped you. We're even so you're on your own….keep the spear."

She backs away from me, eyes never leaving the spear in my hands, just in case I take this moment to plunge it into her stomach and reduce my competition by one. I have no intention of doing this; Chard is too strong, I'm ashamed to say that I would need her back turned and for her to be weakened by serious injury before I could take her down.

Before long I am alone, for the first time in the Games, in a courtyard with three exits and no obvious way of concealing myself. A stone shelf juts out of one wall and I use it as a bench to sit and sort through my pack; I have maybe one litre of water left in my two litre, plastic bottle. I also have a small medical kit, packet of crackers, pair of gloves and the spear from Chard's shoulder.

I look around the courtyard despairingly, how can I win? This maze seemingly has no trees, animals, lakes…do we all just starve and thirst to death? Surely not, the Capitol audience want a spectacle, it's no use watching us _all_ slumped on the ground, fighting stomach cramps as we die slowly.

A cannon punctuates my thoughts, as if to prove that my endeavours are hopeless, nine of us are gone already.

I walk from exit to exit, inspecting the concentric circles and wondering which one will lead me to water; I've been on the move for hours and sweat soaks through my shirt. A symbol on the north wall catches my eye; a large spiral carved into the shiny stone, I trace my fingers over it and spy a small hole in the centre of the design. On the corresponding wall another symbol, a triangle, is also carved into the stone, and has the same small hole in the centre.

The symbols nag at me, I doubt the Game makers would create patterns for purely aesthetic reasons, and then it clicks….the bone hanging from my bracelet is a key. My stylist was right when he suggested that the star indicated District Three, that must be the symbol I can open!

My rising excitement is short-lived; I can't remember seeing a star and there's no guarantee that finding my corresponding symbol would lead me to anything useful…but I can't shake the feeling that this is the answer. The bracelets and the symbols…surely the Hunger Games commentators are practically vibrating with glee in the hope that someone figures it out.

District One: Ribbon

We stop to rest and eat in a larger courtyard with six exits. An apple tree grows in the centre and its roots disrupt the stone slabs around it, Cap gathers the low hanging fruit and we sit eating apples, like a group of friends on a break from work or school.

My belly is full of fruit, warm tins of beef stew and clean water from the lion's head fountain back at the cornucopia. What we need now is another kill; nine tributes are dead so far but we've agreed we'd like to have an even ten before we head back to camp.

Even so, we're tired from the constant back tracking as we encounter dead ends. I wonder idly how the other tributes are faring; did we miss something at the training centre? Or do the traitor districts have mazes that are negotiated on a regular basis? How are we not seeing a dozen confused tributes wandering this place?

The meal has dissipated some of the tension, for now at least, and allows us to continue our hunt in a less edgy atmosphere. Our spirits are further boosted when Dray figures out there are circles above the doorways; they cluster closer together when we double back towards the cornucopia.

By the time the sun begins to dip below the corridor walls we are gleeful from such a successful first day.

"Hey! Stop!" Athena commands us all over to a large moon carving set into a corridor wall. "This is the same as the symbol on my bracelet."

Cap shows us the same symbol on his own bracelet "It must be the sign for District Two."

"I think this weird bone thing is a key. We should see what's on the other side." It's clear that Athena is merely informing us of her decision and not gleaning permission because she immediately jabs her bracelet charm into the small hole at the centre of the carving.

There is an audible click and the section of corridor containing the carving begins to slide aside, creating a doorway just large enough to admit one person at once. As the closest group member to the gap I slide in immediately and am followed quickly by Dray; but then the mechanism clicks once more and the new doorway slides shut, I hear Tucker yelp as he leaps backwards to avoid being crushed.

Dray and I share a confused glance, suddenly alone in each other's company without our other allies.

"It won't open back up!" Athena calls through the wall.

Dray tries his own key but, unsurprisingly, it doesn't work. I take in our new surroundings; the courtyard is very large and almost identical to the others we have travelled through, except that the walls and floor are littered with circular holes about 4 inches in diameter. At the other end of the courtyard is a button set into the far wall.

My stomach tenses as I am gripped with a rising panic.

The first steel spike comes shooting out of the ground; it's lightening quick and only an inch from my right foot. The tip is sharp and it comes up level with my shoulder. I spring forwards just as another spike appears where I had previously been standing; the game is clear, we need to keep moving.

"Get to the other side! Press that button!" Dray calls to me as he hops from foot to foot.

A spike rips my trouser leg and I feel a sharp scratch on the back of my calf, but I don't stop, I roll forwards and jump up. If I can keep moving then I can get to the button…and I pray to goodness that it stops the spikes.

When I am about halfway across the courtyard the game changes up a gear; I have to duck under projectile spikes that shoot out of the walls and vault over floor spikes that appear in pairs and threes. With my heart in my mouth I dive forwards, using my fist to smash the stone button just as a wall spike is discharged to my right; it skims my belly but I feel the wound it leaves behind. My shirt darkens with blood and I feel a dizzy sickness that keeps me on my knees. I await my death by impalement …but it doesn't come. Suddenly hands are on my shoulders and I hear Tucker and Cap tell me to move my legs. As they drag me back into the corridor I see Dray lay flat on the courtyard floor, his left eye rests on his cheek and there are several holes bored through his chest.

Back in the corridor I wave away offers of help and lift my shirt to look at my stomach; the deep scratch stretches from one side of my abdomen to the other and it's clear that I need something to close the wound. I've got a medical kit in my pack and goodness knows I've had enough experience in sewing to do this so I'd better get on with it. I'm just preparing myself for a long, slow and painful stitching session when a silver parachute lands in my lap. No-one reaches for it, it's clear that this demonstration of favour is for me alone. I remove a white tube and uncap the end; it smells medicinal and I wonder if it is some kind of anti-infection medication. I squeeze out a pea sized amount onto my fingertip and gasp in pain; it burns and sticks like hot glue, no doubt this will close my wound without a need for stitches. Aware that I must be on camera and that my generous sponsors are watching, I steel myself and carefully squeeze a line of gel across my belly, grunting and grimacing to bear the pain. Tucker suggests we all take a few minutes to rest and I'm grateful because I'm not sure I can stand up until the gel stops burning.

While the gel cools we sit in a renewed uneasy silence. None of us were particularly close to Dray but it's still a shock to come down from the high emotion of earlier today. The early evening air is chilly and I know that I need to get up and get moving so my sponsors can see I am not adversely injured.

My stomach aches but I fix my face into a neutral expression as I stand "Shall we keep going?"

Suddenly Athena appears, darting back out of the courtyard clutching a bag of supplies.

"How did you get those?" Tucker enquires.

Athena shrugs "They were in a wall panel inside the courtyard. The trap was still deactivated so I went back in for them."

I take a can of peaches and try to let the sweetness re-energise me. The evening air begins to cool and we decide to get back to the cornucopia, ten kills will hold the audience for the night and we should check to see that Allison has held our supplies. I make sure to appear apathetic about the decision but, in truth, I am relieved to be heading back; my energy is sapped and I'd like some time to rest and regroup. I let Cap and Athena take the lead and remain at the rear with my knife drawn, trying not to wince as my shirt rubs against the healing wound on my stomach.

District Three: Wynn

Another cannon punctuates the darkening air; that's ten of us gone on the first day.

I don't know where to settle for the night; I've spent previous Hunger Games watching tributes dig out trenches, sleep in hollows or roost in trees. How do I find somewhere safe to rest? Moreover, and more worryingly, when will I find water? I pass through a courtyard which has a tangle of blackberry bushes planted against one wall; I painstakingly strip the tart fruit and gobble it gladly, pleased for the wetness against my tongue. What I really want is to drain the last of my water but I ration myself to a couple of mouthfuls and continue my miserable trudge.

The cool, dark sky lights up with the Captiol seal and I see the projected face of little Ana; I wonder how she died, did she suffer at the hands of the strong tributes or did she fall into a Game maker trap? I also see the boy from Four, the girl from Five, both from Six, both from Eight, both from Ten and the boy from Twelve.

My footsteps feel heavy and I fall into a pattern of stumbling and forcing myself to move on. Is anyone watching me now or are all the sponsors focused on Chard and the strong pack?

As the edge of the moon just becomes visible over the high walls I see the carved star I have been searching for; I insert my bracelet charm into the small keyhole and steady my breathing as the wall swings away. On entering the new courtyard I almost cry with joy at the sight of a trickling fountain in the far corner of the space; I stagger my way forwards and scoop up the water with my hands, drinking it in huge gulps and splashing it over my face.

A small, green bird perches on the edge of the fountain and I smile at the sweet song it chirrups to me; the water refreshes my body and refill my water bottle and then hold my head under the stream to rinse the sweat out of my hair. The little bird shows no fear of me and hops closer and closer until it begins hovering around my head and chirping a piercing little whistle close to my ears. A sense of unease begins to build as another bird joins the first; they harmonise and the song grows louder and more shrill as more birds arrive, forming a jarring cloud of sound. I put my hands to my ears; the whistle makes my teeth hum and head ache. I feel as though my head will burst and risk letting go of my ears so I can take off my coat and tie it tight, like a bandana, to block out the sound.

The birds are starting to peck at me, their beaks like tiny needles pricking my skin through my clothes. I take my spear and begin to swipe at the birds, trying to skewer them in the air, but they're too fast and now they're trying to swoop at my eyes. My arms flail and, accidentally, I splash one of the birds with an arc of water from my still-open bottle; the bird wavers in its flight and I sense a way of gaining the upper hand. I lift my head and immediately feel the pin pricks of beaks against my cheeks, nose and lips; but I flick water in front of me and then stab straightaway with my spear. Two small bodies drop to the ground and I feel a renewed sense of purpose. Time passes in a painful blur but, eventually, I realise the high-pitched tone is just a legacy, ringing in my ears.

Around my feet are scattered the sad bodies of forty little, green birds; their piercing whistle has left my head sore and my hearing muffled but, at last, I am alone.

Suddenly it hits me…I'm alone! In a courtyard that can only be accessed by a District Three key!

I wash the blood from my face and dig through my pack for the medical kit I took at the cornucopia; inside I find a bottle of twenty pain pills and swallow two, I also indulge in one of my crackers. The air is cold so I tuck my hands into my sleeves, pull up my hood and hunker down in the corner of the courtyard. The stone is chilly and hard but my fatigue and relief is so overwhelming that I soon plunge into sleep.


End file.
